


what you're looking for

by robokittens



Series: hockey threesome hell [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (I Know Right), A Little Bit of Parse/Bitty, A Little Hockey, Aftercare, Background PB&J, Breakfast, Eric Bittle is Definitely the World's Cutest Texter, Introductory Nonmonogamy, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not <em>playing</em>; there's no gear and no goals. Just skates and sticks and a puck, and the thrill of skating with Kent again. They're still good — still in sync, not quite perfect but <em>almost</em>, close enough to touch. Zimms and Parse, Parse and Zimms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what you're looking for

**Author's Note:**

> the sequel that no one (especially me) wanted: now with less threesome!
> 
> starts p much right after the end of [know where you belong](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3598065) and probs doesn't make much sense without it.
> 
> a million thanks to [reserve](http://archiveofourown.com/users/reserve) for the beta.

Jack's got his own come drying on his chest, and Kent's on his face; his dick is hanging out of his pants and his ass is sore, and none of that makes him feel more exposed than the way Kent's staring at him right now.

"So … do you want to?" Jack hazards. "Stay, I mean."

And Kent just keeps staring. Jack looks down at his hands, at his exposed thighs, his soft dick; he shifts on the bed and pulls his jeans back up.

"Kenny?" he says. Kent seems to snap out of it.

"Yeah," Kent says, almost a question. "Yeah? Can — do you want me to?"

There's something in Kent's face that's unfamiliar, putting Jack on edge. He looks … not scared, but nervous maybe. Unsure. Jack has this urge to pull him in, wrap his arms around him, hold him close. He doesn't.

"Wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it, eh?" He smiles, and after a moment, Kent smiles back. Jack remembers the feel of Kent's lips on his (of Kent's dick on his lips), and for just a moment he lets himself want. 

Kent runs a hand through his hair, and the scowl on his face is so familiar Jack can't help but laugh. He stands up, reaches out to smooth down Kent's cowlick. It doesn't work, of course, and Kent's scowl deepens. Jack runs the backs of his knuckles down Kent's cheek, and Kent leans into the touch, just a little.

"C'mon," Jack says, stepping away. "I'm sure I've got a spare toothbrush somewhere."

Kent trails after him as they head to the bathroom, and Jack has never seen him this subdued before. It's freaking him out. 

He's rummaging around in the box of random bathroom crap he keeps on the shelves when he can feel Kent move in behind him. "Parse?" he asks, turns around; Kent is so close to him, so, so close, boxing him in. He doesn't move when Kent moves to kiss him.

It's soft at first, Kent leaning in and Jack awkwardly grasping a loofah in one hand, and then Jack makes a quiet sound into Kent's mouth and Kent just. Goes crazy, a little; Jack feels like Kent's trying to eat him alive.

And it's _good_ , it's so good, it's a little bit violent and it's so, so familiar, rough and harsh and _easy_ in a way it isn't always, with Eric. Not yet.

Shit. _Eric_.

He drops the loofah and puts his hands on Kent's shoulders, tries to push him down and away even as he can't seem to stop kissing him. "Parse," he says, and Kent swallows it. "Parse, Parse, _Kenny_ ," and he means for it to be a protest but it comes out a moan.

Kent kisses along Jack's jaw line, nuzzles behind Jack's ear. "You smell like me," he says, voice warm and more than a little possessive, and Jack's hands on his shoulders pull him closer, instead. They kiss a minute more, soft and easy, and then Jack finally pushes Kent away.

"Of course I smell like you," he says, frowning a little; still, he can't help the happiness that creeps into his tone. "You came on my _face_."

Kent looks smug enough that he'd probably be purring if he could manage it. "I sure did. C'mere," and his tone's gone soft again, a hand on Jack's waist pulling him toward the sink. "Let's clean you up." 

It's Jack's bathroom, but he follows, sits down on the toilet when Kent pushes him there, closes his eyes without being told when Kent grabs a washcloth and starts running the sink. His breath catches at the first touch of the scratchy cloth on his face, damp and just on the edge of too warm, the water doing nothing to ease how old and nubby the fabric is. Kent's touch does, a little.

Kent presses a kiss to the top of his head and then stills, huffs out a laugh.

"Mmm?" Jack's feeling too good for real words, but it should get the point across.

"I uh. I think I got some in your hair."

Jack takes a moment to process this. "Gross," he says eventually, and then, "You like it."

Kent doesn't reply, just laughs again. It's confirmation enough, but then, Jack doesn't need any.

They're quiet long enough for Jack to snap out of it, mostly. He stands up, stretches, pushes past Kent to actually grab the spare toothbrush he'd known was in there. "Here," he says, and holds it out.

They brush their teeth in nostalgic silence; with his eyes closed, Jack can't tell if they're at the Haus or a hotel room or his billet house or anywhere. He doesn't need to keep his eyes open to know that Kent's watching him in the spotty old mirror, either.

He's barely opened his eyes to see it when he pulls the mirror open, obscuring Kent's reflection. He pulls bottles out of the medicine cabinet and counts out his pills, two white and one blue, and dry-swallows them; when he shuts the mirror Kent is staring at — not at the him in the mirror, but at him.

The way Jack cocks his head stands in for the question Kent probably won't ask, anyway. He brushes past him and back into the bedroom. Kent trails after him. 

Jack pulls a t-shirt (FROG FRENZY, an alarmingly neon orientation freebie) out of his pyjama drawer, balls it up, and tosses it at Kent, who catches it effortlessly. He shakes it out and looks at it, then at Jack. "This is … horrifying," Kent says, too busy gawking to pay attention to Jack stripping down to his boxers.

"Only the best for you." Jack smiles, a little wider at the offended look on Kent's face. He pulls a sleep shirt over his own head, plain black fading to grey, and dumps his clothing unceremoniously in the hamper. "Get changed and come to bed."

Kent unbuttons his shirt, exaggerated strip-tease slow. Jack bites his lip, trying to muffle the smile that keeps growing, and turns around. He ignores the indignant noises from Kent behind him, the distinctive sound of his jeans hitting the floor, and fusses with the bedcovers. 

His phone is blinking on the desk.

It's a text from Eric, of course; you'd think the hallway put him all the way across town, the way he texts Jack from his room every night. They're always something sweet, but this one makes him laugh out loud.

"Kenny," he says, "come here."

Kent does, now wearing just his underwear and Jack's cast-off t-shirt. Jack switches off the light just so he doesn't have to see it. The screen glows faintly, just enough that Jack can see the way Kent's lips quirk as he reads the text message.

**Bittle 15: Hands above the waist ;) Good night!! ( ˘ ³˘)♥**

"Jesus," Kent says. "Is he for real?"

"I know," Jack says, trying to keep a dopey smile from spreading across his face. He's probably not succeeding. Kent's holding his phone, so he just stares down at his hands. 

Eric is … Eric's too good for Jack; that's obvious. It's clear just from how upset he gets when Jack says that. Eric says Jack deserves the best, that he hopes he can live up to that. And he says it all so sweet, not a trace of irony in it, no hint of a guilt trip. He just likes Jack, somehow, likes him a _lot_. It's hard to believe sometimes.

He seems like he's all sugar on the outside, but he's so much more. Jack's learning every day what he's really like. And every bit of it's amazing.

"That's …" Kent trails off, shaking his head. He sounds impressed.

Jack takes his phone gently from Kent's hands, sends back a quick "<3 nite," and puts it back on his desk.

He climbs into bed, situating himself properly, and pats the spot next to him. Kent lays down obligingly. It's … not awkward, exactly; they've shared a bed before. They've shared a bed before and after sex, after Kent sent a girl out of the room with a smack on the ass, after Jack pinned Kent to the wall by his hips and sucked his dick for so long Kent almost cried, after Kent fucked Jack half into oblivion and then pulled out, stormed out, in search of — who knows.

They've shared a bed before. It's awkward.

And then Kent turns, stops staring at the ceiling with his hands folded on his chest — Jack sleeps on his back, but he's never known Kent to — and presses himself along Jack's side. He starts to wrap his arm around Jack's waist and then pauses, moves it a few centimetres higher. Jack gives a little silent laugh; Kent can probably feel his shoulders shaking.

"So you _can_ follow rules."

"Shut up," Kent grouses, face smushed against Jack's shoulder. It seems like it should be uncomfortable, but Kent doesn't seem inclined to move.

"Hey, Zimms." Kent says it like there's going to be more, like he's got something to say, but he falls silent. Jack waits a minute, but he's pretty sure Kent has fallen asleep. Jack sighs and shifts, pulling Kent in to rest on his arm instead of against it.

He drifts.

When Jack comes too, hazy and a little overheated, he's wrapped around Kent. 

One of his knees is pressing just slightly between Kent's legs. His arm is under Kent's neck, and Kent is holding that hand tight to his chest, clutched in both of his own. Jack's other arm is draped over Kent's hips, and he moves it upward, feeling a little burst of guilt.  
He presses his face to the back of Kent's shoulder, dropping a kiss there. Kent stirs just slightly, and Jack presses another soft kiss to his shoulder. This time Kent goes very, very still, and Jack is certain he's awake. He moves up, kisses the side of his neck, the spot under his ear where Eric had left a mark.

Kent moans.

"Shhh," Jack whispers. He kisses that spot again. It feels warmer than the skin around it, but it could just be his imagination. Kent shivers; maybe it's not warm at all.

"Jack. _Jack_." Kent's voice is sleep-hoarse, and he already sounds wrecked, desperate. He rolls over in Jack's arms, pressing them together. He's not hard; Jack isn't either, but the way Kent is tight up against him that may not be true for long. 

He finds Kent's mouth in the dark. They kiss.

It's not long before Ken's got him pinned: straddling Jack's waist, Jack's wrists in Kent's hand and pushed back against the wall. Kent's rocking down into him, slow and steady. There's almost enough light for their eyes to meet.

It's barely sexual, which is a strange thought, with Kent's dick pressed up against his thigh, soft but no less insistent, and with Jack's own throat tight with arousal. It's like a reassurance: that they can still do this, and it can be soft-lit and gentle and quiet and _sanctioned_.

Or that's how it is for Jack. Kent … well, Kent likes to say he knows all of Jack's secrets, that he knows what makes him ( _how_ to make him) tick. But Jack's known Kent just as long and just as well, and he knows a few secrets, too.

Kent kisses Jack's throat just as he rolls his hips down against him, perfectly in time, and Jack makes a sound that's more exhale than whimper. He can feel blood starting to fill his cock, but it's slow, sluggish. Like the night; like the rest of him.

Jack thinks, again, that Eric is just across the hall. That he doesn't mind. That he's … happy.

 _I could be happy, maybe_ , Jack thinks. _Like this._

Kent's fingers snap in his face. "Zimms? Earth to Zimms?" In the low light, Kent almost looks concerned.

Jack makes a soft, muzzy sound, blinking up at Kent. "Yeah?" he manages.

"You went … away, for a minute there, man. You fall asleep? This not good enough for you?" And there it is, the Parson posturing; it's a weak attempt, but it makes them both smile.

Jack realizes his hands are free, and he brings one to Kent's shoulder, the other to the back of his neck, and pulls him down for a kiss. "You are absolutely good enough for me," he whispers. Kent licks the promise out of his mouth, and Jack's eyes slip shut again.

 

_/

 

Jack is up before his 5:30 alarm. He'd set it for late out of deference to Kent, who he's sure has managed to parlay a professional hockey career into a lifestyle of never getting up before noon.

Normally he'd be on a run right now: a quick "good morning" text to Eric even though he won't see it for hours, a bagel with peanut butter on his way out the door, a light jog to campus proper, and then a good run around the Pond, or through town, everything deserted this early, everything a sunrise coloured blur as he goes past. It's calming, it's good. It makes him feel … good.

But today he's woken up covered in Kent Parson. He wonders if it's a joke with the Aces, the way it was before, that if you fall asleep next to Parse you'll wake up being cuddled by him. Fucking notorious, that one, fiercest teddy bear in the league.

Jack smiles, thinking about it, and leans down to kiss Kent's hair. It's a little awkward, the way Kent's head is pillowed on his chest, but it's all right. He's suffered worse. Kent's eyelids stir a little without opening, the early-morning sunlight that peeks through the blinds reflecting off his eyelashes. Kent looks, he always looks, made of gold.

 _Get up_ , Jack wants to say, _get off me and let's go_ , but Kent's eyes open slowly and there's a small, soft smile on his face, and the words catch in Jack's throat.

"Timuzzit?" Kent mumbles, turning his face into Jack's chest. 

"Almost six," Jack lies. It'll probably be later than that by the time they actually get up, if the way Kent groans and curls tighter into him is anything to go by, Kent shaking his head where it's pressed to Jack's chest like he's going to burrow in.

They lay there a little longer. Kent stretches: one leg then the other, catlike, and yawns as he extends the arm he'd had wrapped around Jack's chest. He props himself up on the other elbow, just enough to make eye contact. Jack, inexplicably, finds himself blushing.

"C'm—" _on_ , he starts to say, but then Kent's lips are on his. 

The kiss stretches for hours, days, whole years where his lips and Kent's are never more than a breath apart; it's syrup-slow and just as sweet (if syrup had terrible morning breath), and by the time they finally pull apart, Jack's sure he's gasping because Kent's been breathing for him all this time.

Kent is braced over him, somehow. Jack's not sure when that happened. He takes a few deep breaths.

"I've missed this," Kent says. He lowers himself back down, head a familiar weight on Jack's chest. "Missed waking up like this."

"We've _never_ woken up like this," Jack points out. He's almost breathing even now, Kent's head notwithstanding. 

"... No. Not quite. But you know what I mean, and who knows; someone could open your door and walk in on us right now. It's nice to wake up with you, that's all." He says it flippantly, but Jack is still amazed he'd confess that in the daylight.

Speaking of which, the sun really is about to rise.

"Let's get going," he says, pushing Kent off him as gently as possible. He gets out of bed and stares down, unimpressed, at Kent, who has already managed to wrap himself in all the blankets. Kent blinks up at him.

"Going? Where?"

Jack rolls his eyes. He pulls his sleep shirt over his head and throws it at Kent with perfect aim, almost suppressing a smile at Kent's outraged noise, and walks toward the bathroom. As he opens the door, he looks back over his shoulder.

"The _rink_."

It's a long, slow walk to Faber, Kent dragging his heels and complaining about how it's his day off, how it's too early; he's just trying to get under Jack's skin. He's always, one way or another, trying to get under Jack's skin. He's always been too good at it.

Jack glances over his shoulder. Kent's looking up at the trees, at the sky, the buildings; it's weird to think about, but he probably hasn't spent much time on college campuses. Off-campus parties, sure. But Kent hasn't taken a single college course, as far as Jack knows, and it occurs him to him again how far their lives have diverged.

It's a discomfiting thought. He shakes it off, and pulls the key to Faber out of his pocket.

They head to the locker room in silence. Kent's still dawdling, looking around like he's never seen anything like this before. And Jack can't blame him, entirely: Faber's a beautiful building, and the way the sun spills through the windows onto the ice would be breathtaking anywhere else, maybe. But it's ice, and it's a rink. And that's just … there's more beauty in hockey than in any building.

They're not _playing_ ; there's no gear and no goals. Just skates and sticks and a puck, and the thrill of skating with Kent again. They're still good — still in sync, not quite perfect but _almost_ , close enough to touch. Zimms and Parse, Parse and Zimms.

Kent checks him into the boards and stays there, leaning heavily against him. They're close enough to kiss, and Jack wonders if the security cameras are on this early in the morning, wonders if anyone will look through them. Thinks about kissing him anyway. He can see Kent look at him skeptically.

"What's that face," Kent says, unimpressed. "Is this how you and Bittle got together, or something?"

And that hadn't been what he was thinking about, not at all — he feels a flash of guilt for that, but _now_ he is. He'd wanted to kiss Eric then. He hadn't. Just like this.

Kent groans. "Oh my god, are you serious? Of course it is. Do you have any pick-up lines that aren’t hockey?"

"Nope," Jack says, and grabs Kent's hand, pulling him back onto the ice.

 

_/

 

It's a long walk back. They wander down the river, not heading back to the Haus right away by unspoken agreement. Kent's awake now, long strides in time with Jack's, but it's like they have nothing to say when they're not kissing.

"How long till you go back?" Jack says, his voice slow, cautious.

Kent stops for half a second, just long enough to put their steps out of synch. "Vegas? Two days."

Jack hmms, thoughtful. "Heading home today? From here."

"I should." Kent sighs melodramatically. "Or my folks'll lay it on me. You know how they are."

There's another stretch of silence — Jack's wondering if he should have said something, made an affirmative noise even — when Kent pipes up again. "Oh, hey! You should come visit. Mom'd love to see you!"

"... Yeah?"

"C'mon, Zimms, she loves you. 'That Jack Zimmermann,'" he says in a mocking falsetto, "'What a nice boy. What a good influence.'" Kent laughs, loud and bright. Campus is still mostly empty, and it doesn't quite echo, but close. He elbows Jack, and when Jack glances over at him he's grinning. "Little she knows, eh?"

Jack doesn't say anything, doesn't think about what kind of influence he was on Kent. What kind of influence Kent was on him. Doesn't wonder if that's behind him now, or … what's ahead of him. What they're doing.

He takes a sharp left onto Jacob Street. Kent almost misses it, following just a step behind.

"Bittle can come too. Should come. Mom'd love him, too, are you kidding me? He'd be part of the family immediately." Kent manages to sound sincere and smug, all at once, and Jack feels a flare of jealousy rise up in his chest. That Kent is so … so _sure_ of his place with Eric, like he fucks him once and now he thinks he's got partial claim. And it's a claim, he's sure of it; if he knows anyone he knows Kent.

He knows Kent better than he knows himself, half the time.

"Part of the family, eh?" He manages a smile. "I guess we could come up. If he wants to."

"If he wants to," Kent agrees. He pauses, then asks, "Is he your boyfriend?" so abrupt that Jack's jealousy is quelled by surprise. 

He takes a deep breath. "I ... I think so. Yeah. We haven't really talked about it; it's ..." _Complicated_ , he thinks, and _Difficult. Dangerous. A future I'm not ready to face._ He looks down at his feet. "... not official. But. Yeah."

"Then yeah," Parse says, like it's that simple. "He should come."

They're coming up on the Haus. Jack sighs. He thinks about it.

"I'll ask him."

When they get back to the Haus it's still quiet, save the muted sound of what Jack is almost positive is Taylor Swift coming from the kitchen. That, and the distinctive sound of empties clanking together in a trash bag.

"Hi!" Chowder says, poking his head around the corner. He looks a little starstruck, which throws Jack off for a second — does he need to convince Chowder he's not scary again? — before remembering that he's accompanied by Kent Parson.

"Hey Chow," Jack says casually. "You remember Parse. How's cleanup going?"

Jack's still not sure if he's vying for dibs, of if Chowder is just genuinely eager to please all the time, but it's good having someone with his energy around. (If it's the former, Ransom and Holster are trying to work out how to get a third bed into the attic, which is either the best or worst idea Jack's ever heard.)

"Good! I'm almost done. Bitty says he'll vacuum later and not to worry about it."

Kent looks around at the floors, then back to Jack, perplexed. _Vacuum?_ he mouths. Jack shrugs. Eric has his mysteries.

"He _also_ said the kitchen is off limits and he'll get everyone when breakfast is ready." 

"Sure," Jack says. "We'll be upstairs."

Chowder sounds a little breathless, looks a little wide-eyed, when he says "Oh ok!" a little too quickly, but he's always a little wide-eyed. Jack's pretty sure he's dazzled by being _in a room_ with _Kent Parson_ and not anything more untoward.

It's hard to believe anyone's impressed by Kent.

Upstairs, Kent shuts the door to Jack's room and leans back against it. "I think your goalie has a crush on me," he says with a shit-eating grin.

"Chowder's got a crush on everyone," Jack deadpans, just to see Kent's smile falter. 

It's barely a moment before he recovers, smirk firmly in place. "What about you? Who've you got a crush on?"

His lines have always been terrible. Jack has always, always fallen for them.

Jack takes a step toward the bed and Kent follows, and they match two more that way before Jack hooks his fingers in Kent's belt loops and pulls him forward. It's hardly a kiss, a brush of lips and exchange of breaths, before the door opens and they jump apart. Kent moves faster than Jack does, but probably anyone who came in the room could tell what was going on.

It's not anyone though, fortunately; it's Eric. Jack knows Eric's been up for a while, almost as long as he and Kent have probably, but he's still a little sleepy of eye, rumpled of hair. He's got oven mitts hanging off his belt loop by a red carabiner.

Jack had been in Kent's arms just a moment ago and suddenly Eric's in his, tucked against his chest. He smells, unsurprisingly, like powdered sugar and maple syrup. Jack tips Eric's chin up so he can press their lips together, and Eric responds ravenously. They're not usually this … affectionate, this charged, first thing in the morning — especially not with someone else in the room, with the door still open — but Eric kisses him like they've been apart for weeks instead of hours. 

_Jealous_ , Jack thinks, but before he has a chance to voice it he can feel one of Eric's hands move off his chest; then he's making some complicated hand gesture, and whatever it is makes Kent shut the door.

When Kent comes back over he doesn't hesitate. Jack can feel the tips of Kent's fingers pressing against him where they're braced on Eric's hips. He leans forward, over Eric's shoulder, and kisses Jack as hard as Eric had been just a moment ago. 

Jack sighs into it, his own fingers tightening on Eric's shoulders.

Kent finally pulls away, rocking back on his heels. Jack looks down at Eric, who looks ... not upset. His eyes are a little glazed, his breathing a little heavy. Jack leans in to kiss him again, soft, a quick press of lips before he straightens up.

"Come to breakfast," Eric says eventually, his breathing slowing. He leans backward, tipping his head just slightly back onto Kent's shoulder and pressing into him elsewhere, if the way Kent's breathing stutters is enough to go by. "Not everyone's up yet, and I made so many pancakes."

"Enough to share?" Kent asks. He leers, Jack groans, Eric raises an eyebrow and turns around, looping his arms around Kent's neck.

"Kent Parson," he says, "I swear, you are the least subtle creature I have ever met."

Kent smirks. "Don't need to be," he says, and puts his hands on Eric's waist, tugging him in. Eric arches up into it. Over Eric's shoulder, Jack can watch them kiss — just once, but it's long and slow and Jack can see Eric's lip still caught in Kent's teeth as he pulls away. 

Eric slowly comes back down from his toes, from being pressed against Kent, lets his hands drift down Kent's chest before coming to rest at his sides. Kent licks his lips; he's still smirking, but it seems subconscious.

Without looking, Eric reaches an arm back and grabs one of Jack's hands in his own. He tugs him forward. Jack moves toward him willingly, pressing up against him, wrapping his free arm around Eric's chest.

"Come to breakfast," Eric says again. He links their fingers together, and somehow that's enough to set Jack's heart racing even faster.

He kisses Eric's temple, which is most of what he can reach, and lets go of his hand, drops his arm to take a half-step back. "We'll be down in a minute," he says. 

"Okay," Eric says, warm, trusting. He reaches up to touch the side of Kent's neck. Kent flinches. "Nice hickey, by the way," Eric says, and brushes past him.

"Thanks," Kent says. He sounds collected, but Jack would be able to tell otherwise even if Kent weren't actually _blushing_. It's a rare sight, and he can't help but enjoy it. 

Eric shuts the door behind him. 

Kent stares at Jack for a long moment before he bursts out laughing. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"It _is_ a nice hickey," Jack offers. "It looks good."

Kent buries his head in his hands. 

Jack lets him laugh his shame out for a minute, watches the silent shake of his shoulders. It's so nice seeing him like this; it's been such a long time. It's been such a long, long time.

"Let's go to breakfast," he says. 

Kent takes a deep breath, touches his own neck just once before squaring his shoulders. "Let's do it," he says.

The backs of their hands brush as they walk down the stairs. Jack can hear Eric's voice rising above the general hubbub in the kitchen. Breakfast smells delicious.

**Author's Note:**

> "wouldn't it be fun if i just wrote, like, 1500 words of cuddles," they said.
> 
> thanks to reserve, and to onceuponamoon, and to the kpgg, and to all 100+ (!!!) of you who left kudos on the last one; you truly made me believe there was room in this fandom for kent parson getting hella laid, and also room in your hearts. (no pressure.)


End file.
